A BAD SOLDIER.
by Slea
Summary: ONE BAD WORD USED, My way of putting to rest the "jokers last laugh" Story line. Some spoiling for thoses smart enough not to have bought the books.


A Bad Soldier.   
By Cyndi Smith   
  
This was my attempt to fix what I thought was the worse story line Dixon wrote. Joker's last laugh ... so if you read past this point don't blame me for any spoiling that might occur.  
  
  
He sat alone in the darkness of his bathroom. He had been there since he got home sometime last night, or maybe it was the night before. He only stopped long enough to strip out of his gear and hide it, then grab something from the closet. The last couple of days had been hell. Maybe he was not responsible for his actions. No, one of the first things that Two Face ever beat into him was once you make a decision you have to live with the consequences. That time it cost a judge his life. Nearly cost Bruce his life as well. Oh God, Bruce. He would never forgive him. Dick had broken the vow. He used everything Bruce ever taught him to beat a man to death.   
He stepped into the shower, not even bothering to turn on the cold water. He slowly bent down to get the soap and found he no longer had the strength to stand. Sitting down in the tub, he tried desperately to scrub the remembrance of his crime from his hands, but instead all it did was imbed in his soul.   
He really didn't know how long he sat in his shower; the water had long since turned cold. It was the sound of someone banging on his door that actually got his attention. He turned off the streaming water and crawled onto the bathroom tile. He took his towel and shoved it in the crack of the door, to block out the light that made its way beneath it. He didn't want the light; he didn't deserve the light. He once vowed to be the light in the darkness of the night; to fight for good and the just. Now? Now he is everything he ever fought against. How simple it was to go from crime fighter to criminal.   
The phone must have rung for an hour. He had no clue what time it was, or what day it was for that matter. Not that it mattered anymore. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. He shattered the code of the bat by losing control; he could no longer do what he was trained for. The only upside to the whole thing was now he could be a true Bludhaven cop. He was as guilty as two thirds of the force. But he would never be able to look Amy in the face again. She trusted him; trusted him enough to let him in, and he betrayed that thrust.   
Someone knocked on the door again, only this time he let him self in. It was Tim. God, it was so good to hear his voice. He called Dick's name three times before he found his way to the bathroom door. Dick hoped if he just stayed quiet Tim would go, but leave it to the Boy Wonder to bring his bat gear, including the heat vision glasses.   
"Dick, are you okay? I know you're in there. Why are you sitting against the door? Come on, man, talk to me. It's been two days and no one has heard from you. Babs is frantic. At least answer your phone."   
Dick didn't reply. He remained seated were he had been for the last two days, holding tight to what could be the only answer to his dilemma; the only thing he took from the closet and it wasn't clothes. The Joker had taken from him everything he ever loved. Because of the Joker he had lost his mantle of Robin and now Nightwing. Dick had destroyed his vow, and in doing so had no right to self-respect yet alone respect of others.   
He could never face the Titans or Clark, but the hardest blow came in knowing he lost Barbara and Bruce because of what he did. There was nothing left to lose. What was it Batman said?   
"Let him go, Robin. He has to face what he has done."   
Batman was right. The Joker wasn't to blame for this; it was all his fault and he had to live with it. The only question was how long he chose to live with it.   
"Come on, man, open up. It was not your fault." Tim whined. "If anyone is to blame it's me. I should have tried to contact someone as soon as I got out of Arkham."   
"GO AWAY!" Dick's voice sounded gravelly and hollow, almost like Bruce's at his worst.   
"I am not going anywhere till you come out and talk to me. The Joker is alive. You didn't kill anyone."   
"GO AWAY!"   
The phone rang again and this time he heard the kid pick it up.   
"Yeah, Barbara, he's here. I found him in the bathroom...I don't know, he's just sitting against the door alone in the dark. The only heat is his body heat and that's not much. For all I know, he's been in there for hours..... Aw come on, Babs. I know he's hurting, but he wouldn't ... Okay, okay. I'll check."   
The room got silent except for the sound of rummaging, then Tim's voice went up in panic a couple octaves.   
"OH GOD, OH GOD! Babs, it's not there."   
The kid started pounding on the door, like if he hit it hard enough he could break through. But not this door. When Dick had the building rebuilt, all of his apartment was reinforced. Not even batman could break this.   
"GO AWAY!" Dick growled, his voice crackling at the strain.   
"Dick, where is your police issue?" the kid hollered as he pounded a little harder on the door. "Please, Dick. You're scaring me."   
"Go away, Tim. You're not supposed to be here."   
"No, Dick! I'm staying here till you come out."   
"Then have a seat. You'll have a long wait," Dick whispered.   
"Dick, where is your weapon?"   
"On the floor in front of me."   
"Dick..."   
"Has Bruce taught you how to shoot yet?" Dick interrupted. "Of course he has, one of the first things he taught me was how to take it apart and put it together in the dark." ---   
"Dick why do you have your weapon in the bathroom."   
"Why do you think?.....Ah I get it. Sorry for being so slow, but I don't remember sleeping in the last couple of days. I promise not to shoot myself, now GO AWAY!"   
"Dick, I'm sorry. This is my fault."   
"Look, you weren't there. You didn't do anything but try to stop me when you were. If that is something to feel guilty for, get out of the business while you're still young." Dick struggled to a standing position; his legs didn't want to help, and they quickly buckled, sending him crashing into the side of the toilet.   
"Urgggggggggg."   
"Dick, unlock the door or I will break it down."   
That was Bruce's voice. Dick laughed. It hurt to laugh, but he laughed anyway. "Um...Tim either you hit puberty again or you got a bat up your..."   
"This is not a game, young man. Open this door at once."   
"Alfred! They called you too? I must really be in trouble." Dick wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door. "Hey, listen guys, since you're all here you might as well make a party of it. There's Zesti in the fridge and chips in the cupboard. Take them. AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE..... I have to get some sleep."   
Tim was relieved to find the gun was in several pieces on the floor of the bathroom where Dick had been sitting.  
Dick pushed away anyone who tried to help. There was a large knot forming on the side of his head where he had hit it in the bathroom. It had not yet started to bruise, but it would soon enough.   
"Dick, you need some medical help. At least let Alfred look at that bump."   
"No, if you're not going to let me think, then I want to go to sleep."   
"Dick if you go to sleep now, you may never wake up."   
"And your point is...Oh, I know. Here, this will help."   
He pushed his way into his closet and opened the secret compartment. Pulling out Nightwing's costume, he tossed it at Bruce.   
"Here, put it in your collection with nice plaque beneath it saying 'Richard J Grayson, A Bad Soldier.'" With that said Dick collapsed to the ground in a heap.   
Dick awoke nearly a week later in the Medical lab beneath the manor. He couldn't get things to focus very well but he could hear the echoes of wings as the bats returned from their nightly journeys.   
"How are you feeling, young man?" Alfred sounded like he was a mile away, his voice echoing in Dicks head.   
"Like I got hit by a truck...Did I?"   
"No lad, you slipped in the bathroom."   
"Ow, that's embarrassing."   
"No need to be embarrassed, son. It would seem to have been a blessing in disguise. It appears that you had a rare tumor, Leslie called it a 'Dixon tumor.' We may have never found it if you hadn't taken that nasty tumble."   
"Dixon tumor?"   
"A nasty little bugger that lays dormant then, suddenly, when it decides it wants out, it causes you to do things you would not normally do. You might feel some residual effects for the next couple of months till we are sure it is gone but..."   
"Did I do something wrong?"   
"Well, you did scare young Timothy half to death when he discovered you locked in the bathroom for two days with your service weapon, but nothing to be ashamed of."   
"What was I doing with my weapon in the shower?"   
"It seems you were assembling and disassembling it."   
"OH?"   
"Master Bruce reassembled it for you. It is in your safe. And the precinct knows about the tumor and they have you on medical leave. So get some rest. Master Bruce will be home soon."   
"Okay, Alfred. Good night."   
"Good night, my boy." 


End file.
